


with every leaf a miracle

by cosmicbees



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, College Student Keith (Voltron), Disaster gay Shiro, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), This is so self indulgent I'm sorry, keith talks a lot and shiro can't take advice so here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbees/pseuds/cosmicbees
Summary: Keith buys flowers, Shiro pines, and all is right in the world.Shiro can tell the frigid weather has soaked into his bones from the set of his shoulders.And he’s gorgeous.He’s gorgeous even with his face flushed pink, rubbed raw from the rain and wind. Even soaking wet, with his dark hair curling at the ends, just above the collar of his jacket. Even wild eyed and desperate, shivering outside of a flower shop on a Friday night, and begging for a bouquet of roses.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the Walt Whitman poem ['When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d'](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45480/when-lilacs-last-in-the-dooryard-bloomd) , which definitely has nothing to do with the actual content of the fic.
> 
>  
> 
> there is now some art inspired by this work!!  
> \- a piece by my friend Lessa, [here on tumblr](http://bonepharaoh.tumblr.com/post/175699112609/i-dont-ship-sheith-or-watch-voltron-but-my-friend)  
> \- flowershop sheith by amanda tinykeef on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tinykeef/status/1060285704708784128) and [tumblr](https://tinykeef.tumblr.com/post/179880108292/flower-shop-au-inspired-by-sheithinlove-s-fic)

_ EMERGENCY ALERT: Flash Flood Warning in this area until 3AM. Avoid flood areas. Check Local Media. _

The alert flashes across Shiro’s phone where it lays, just to his left. It had been motionless and silent in the moments before. He dismisses the notification, and looks instead to the time. 

_ 6:55. Five minutes to go.  _

Shiro lets his gaze drift back to the rain-spattered window, and the yellow blur of the street lamps which line the sidewalk outside of his little flower shop. The cars on the street move slowly, headlights softened by the haze of rain. A blaze of lightning breaks the peace, and his eyes dart towards the tiny timestamp on the computer monitor nearby.

_ 6:57. Three minutes.  _

He takes to gathering his belongings from around the store. An empty lunchbox, a travel mug, his jacket which has been softened and worn in by time. Shiro stops, briefly, in the back room, and takes a moment to appraise his day’s work: a grouping of centerpieces for a morning wedding. The soft pinks of the petals are almost cream in the dim light of the floral cooler in which they’re stored. Shiro moves back towards the front counter, and flicks the lightswitch off, casting the room in shadow, and looks to the clock on the wall above the door. 

_ 7:00. Closing time. _

The crack of nearby thunder rings out and Shiro grits his teeth against the cold as he steps out into piercing sheets of rain. 

“Wait, wait!” Shiro’s keys have been tucked firmly into his pockets, and he’s giving the door one final tug when a voice calls out above the din, “ _ Fuck _ , you’re closed aren’t you?” Shiro turns towards the sound of rapidly-approaching footsteps, slapping hard and wet against the concrete, pulls his right hand from the relative warmth, of his jacket, and checks his watch. 

_ 7:02. Time to go home. _

“I--yeah.” He mumbles, eyes set firmly on the pavement in front of him, refusing to make eye contact with the stranger, “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m closed up for the night.” 

“I just need some flowers, please. Like, just some roses or something.”

“I--” Shiro’s digs his hands further into his pockets. 

“Please, man. I’ll pay you double.” His voice is tense, but wavers a bit at the end of his statement. Shiro checks his watch, one last time, before looking up from the pavement.

7:03, on the evening of September 4th is the exact moment that Shiro’s life begins a long, cold, downward spiral.

In the dim glow of the streetlights, Shiro gets his first real look at the guy--he’s slim, a bit shorter than Shiro is himself, and absolutely drenched from the rain--Shiro can tell the frigid weather has soaked into his bones from the set of his shoulders. 

And he’s gorgeous.

He’s gorgeous even with his face flushed pink, rubbed raw from the rain and wind. Even soaking wet, with his dark hair curling at the ends, just above the collar of his jacket. Even wild eyed and desperate, shivering outside of a flower shop on a Friday night, and begging for a bouquet of roses.

“Yeah...” Shiro sighs, after a beat too many, turning his back to the man briefly in order to unlock the door, “c’mon.”

“What?” 

“We’ll get you some flowers. Come inside.” He’s holding the door open, but falters a little when the man only stares in response, mouth parted slightly in what he can only assume is surprise. 

“Please? You’ll catch cold out there.” Shiro’s voice is gentler this time, and the man only nods before stepping into the warmth of the shop. Shiro lets the door close behind him and hurries himself with gathering a bouquet, while the stranger stands silently, just barely inside the threshold.

“Special occasion?” Shiro glances over his shoulder from where he’s appraising the selection of bouquets in a cooler. No reply. “Any reason at all?”

The man shrugs noncommittally, and Shiro goes back to work. He can feel the other man’s eyes following him as he moves about the shop.

“Ah,” Shiro sighs, moving towards where the man stands, and holds out the flowers, “Well, I’ve put them into a box for you as well, so that the rain doesn’t ruin the tissue paper. Be careful not to drop it though.” 

“How much?” the guy asks, eyeing the box warily. Shiro must pause for a moment too long in his consideration, because the man reaches hastily for his wallet and bites at the corner of his lip. Anxiety tinges his voice, “Sorry, I’m wasting your time.” 

“Just take them,” Shiro replies simply. He feels bad for the man, who is visibly shivering, with layers of clothing plastered to his body by the rain, and a small puddle forming at his feet. 

_ God, _ Shiro thinks,  _ he looks like a drowned cat. _

A wave of sympathy washes over Shiro when he realizes that the poor guy probably forgot his anniversary and ran to the shop in the pouring rain, just to find that Shiro was closing up for the evening. As much as Shiro’s business needs the cash, far be it from Shiro to deny this man the right to atone for his sins when he is making an honest effort.

And far be it from Shiro to deny someone who looks like that  _ anything _ . 

“But that’s a lot of--”

“Just promise you’ll come back sometime, and buy flowers when I’m actually open, okay?” Shiro holds the box out towards the man again--an offering. He takes it from Shiro’s hands and turns towards the door. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, glancing back at Shiro. The smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth manages to, for some inexplicable reason, shatter Shiro’s heart.  “yeah, I can do that.”

When he walks out the door, he takes a little piece of Shiro’s heart with him.

*****

The days that follow are a blur. Shiro is consumed by a sudden barrage of orders--for weddings, for dinner parties, for a sizable gala that he’s still not sure how he secured the contract for. He’s in over his head, never having had to cope with so much in so little time. 

Champion’s Floral is located in a quiet neighborhood not too far from the local university, and aside from the occasional visitor asking from directions, the store sees very little foot traffic. In the almost two years that his shop had been open, Shiro had barely managed to keep the business afloat. Initially, the lights were kept on through sheer dumb luck, before he built a small, but loyal, group of clientele. 

Shiro is mulling over a plan to tackle the inundation of orders when the bell he has tied to the front door jingles lightly. He jolts upright from where he’s been hunched over the front counter, chewing on the butt end of a pen and staring at a calendar for the last thirty minutes. 

Standing just inside the doorsill is the same guy who had left a puddle on his floor the week before. He’s now blessedly dry, bundled against the cold and wind outside in a coat that seems to consume most of his body. He raises a hand in greeting, and gives Shiro a little wave.

What’s left of Shiro’s heart manages to skip a beat.

He looks just as good as he had before, perhaps even better. 

“Hey,” Shiro breathes, “welcome back.”

The man silently crosses the room, pulls out his wallet, and shoves a small fortune’s worth of twenty dollar bills across the counter. Shiro looks down at the money before him for a moment, before fixing his gaze back on the man, eyebrow cocked.

“I just--” He takes a deep breath in, hand nervously kneading the back of his neck, “I feel bad about the other night, and I know those flowers couldn’t have been cheap, so I’d like to pay you for them.” 

“They’re not that expensive…” Shiro murmurs, pushing the twenties away, “they’re just roses.”

“They weren’t  _ just roses _ .” He scoffs in reply. 

“It’s okay, It was--”

“Listen, I’m not stupid.” The man replies, gathering the cash from the counter and when Shiro opens his mouth to protest, the glare that receives could melt a hole through solid brick, “Those roses were nice-- _ really nice _ . You going out of your way to get them even after you were closed was nice. You were nice to give them to me, but I’m not a scab, so I’m paying you for them, because I can be fucking nice, too.”

His tone is biting--sharp. Shiro’s resolve to not accept the money falters when the man grabs Shiro’s hand from where it rests on the counter, and puts the crumpled bills into his palm with fingers that are gentle against Shiro’s, despite the harsh words. 

“Okay,” Shiro agrees, turning to the register to deposit the cash, “Let me get your flowers for you though.” 

“My what?” 

“Your flowers,” and before the man can even open his mouth in response, Shiro has disappeared into the back room. When he comes back out a short while later with a bouquet of blue and white dendrobium orchids cradled in his arms, the man is crouched down in the corner opposite him. His back is to Shiro, head cocked to the side while he examines a display filled with succulents. 

Shiro watches the way the man methodically picks up and examines each tiny terra cotta pot before placing it back on the shelf amongst its peers. He moves through the plants, from a tiny barrel cactus, to a jade plant, before he settles his hands on one with plant with long stems hanging over the sides. 

“You’re a fan of the Burro’s Tail?” Shiro asks, voice gentle in the quiet of the shop. 

“Yeah, they’re nice,” he replies, looking over his shoulder with a soft smile that pulls at Shiro’s heart before he turns away, replacing the little pot on the shelf. After a long moment, he stands up, and faces Shiro again, brushing his hands off on his pants. “Plants are nice.” 

“Plants  _ are _ nice,” Shiro agrees absentmindedly, holding the bouquet of orchids out towards the man. 

“How much do I owe you?” He eyes the flowers skeptically. 

“You just paid me for them.” 

“No,” the man sighs, brows furrowed, “I paid you for the roses.” 

“I gave you the roses,” Shiro replies brightly, surely,  “but you promised to come back and buy another bouquet when my shop was open. You just came back, paid me for this bouquet, and now it’s yours.” 

“I’m--I,” He reaches for the bouquet, stopping just short for a quick second before he takes it in his arms, “okay. Yeah.” 

It’s a small victory, but Shiro feels like he’s won a gold medal, even as the man looks down on the orchids with his brow furrowed in a small scowl. After a moment, his face smooths into a carefully trained expression of placidity. 

“Yeah.” Shiro confirms, before reaching a hand out, “I’m Shiro, by the way.”

“It’s been nice to meet you Shiro,” the way that his name rolls off the other man’s tongue when he fits his hand into Shiro’s fills him with a liquid warmth.

Bouquet Guy looks up from the orchids to smile at Shiro. It’s a small, fragile smile that makes Shiro’s breath catch in his lungs, because when their eyes meet, Shiro realizes that the man’s eyes are the same deep, dark blue-almost-purple as the flowers that his arms are wrapped around. 

“Come back any time,” Shiro raises his hand in a weak wave as the man toddles out the door, trying his best to protect the large bouquet from the cold wind that buffets against him. When the door shuts behind him with a soft  _ thud _ , Shiro immediately reaches for the nearest pair of shears with which he can gouge his eyes out. 

He’d like to physically carve the memory of this man from his brain, because his eyes were the color of orchids, and he smiled at Shiro, and it hurts to think about for more than a few seconds. 

Shiro stills his hand and loosens his grip on the shears only when he realizes that although he offered his own name, he never received the other man’s in return. 

******

By the following Friday, Shiro has effectively scrubbed Bouquet Guy from his mind, able to focus instead on the orders around him. The week had been busy, enough so that he had been forced to call in help to assemble the myriad of bouquets and centerpieces for a large wedding. 

“What precisely was in these boutonnieres again?” A head pops out from the door that leads to the back room, platinum white hair standing in stark contrast to the dark wood of the trim, “I’ve got the pink ranunculus, the little blue delphiniums, but what am I missing?”

“The myrtle,” Shiro supplies, holding the order form out as an explanation, “thanks again for helping, Allura. I appreciate it more than you know.” 

“No worries, Shiro,” She takes the slip of paper from his hands, and examines it for a brief moment. With a quick nod, she slips into the back room just as the front door of the shop is pushed open with a burst of cool air and the soft jingling of bells. 

“Welcome to Champion’s Floral,” Shiro turns to face the newcomer, “how can I help you today?” 

“Hi Shiro,” a familiar voice replies, a broad smile plastered on the speaker’s face. Shiro’s mouth is dry, and feels as though it is full of cotton balls, because the grin he’s faced with belongs to none other than Bouquet Guy. 

“Oh hey,” he says, voice meek as he raises a hand in greeting, “welcome back.” 

The little entry of Shiro’s shop is uncomfortably silent for a moment, as Shiro’s eyes dart from where they were locked onto the other man’s grin, to his eyes, back down to his mouth where the smile is quickly fading, before he glues them firmly to a cooler full of corsages just past where the stranger’s hair is wisping into soft curls around his ears. Shiro wonders briefly if the sound of his heart hammering in his chest is loud enough to be heard three yards away. 

“I was hoping I could--”

“Is there something I can--”

Shiro and Bouquet Guy both begin speaking at the same time before both of them stop, silence fills the space between them, and Shiro hesitates for a moment before speaking again. 

“Sorry, I just--”

“My bad, I wasn’t--” 

Shiro can feel the heat spreading across his face as he snaps his mouth shut, jaw clenching in embarrassment as the man begins to laugh. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude,” he chuckles, moving a few strides closer to Shiro’s counter, “I just wanted to get another bouquet.”

“No worries, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, either,” Shiro nods in response, face still hot, “Is there anything you had in mind?” 

“I dunno,” Bouquet Guy tilts his head to the side thoughtfully, and worries his lip for a moment, “Something bright maybe? Sunflowers if you have that sort of thing.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro waves a hand loosely towards a cooler just beside the counter, “I think I’ve got something.” 

The truth is, Shiro  _ knows _ he has a sunflower bouquet, as he had made one just yesterday with the leftovers from a special order. He doesn’t usually carry sunflowers at this time of year, so it’s one of the pricier bouquets he has in the display case, with little green and pink peonies scattered throughout the bright golden blooms. Bouquet Guy’s eyes follow the movement of Shiro’s hand and he crosses the room to examine his options, leaning down and squinting through the cooler door.

Shiro watches silently as the man assesses each bouquet in the case, and tries not to internalize what he can see of his reaction to each of the arrangements. The soft “oh” that escapes his parted lips when he locks eyes with the sunflowers and the ghost of a smile that Shiro can see reflected in the glass makes him want to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor.

“That’s perfect,” the man murmurs, wrenching the door to the cooler open and reaching in for the vase. “I want these.” He’s smiling again when he turns around, and sets the vase on the counter to reach into his wallet for a credit card. 

“They’re very nice” Shiro agrees as he accepts the proffered card. His thumb brushes over the embossed lettering on the flimsy plastic and he’s struck once again by the desire to know Bouquet Guy’s name. He glances down, trying his best to be casual and tries not to let his shoulders slump too much when he sees that the card is only printed with the man’s first initial, and full last name.

He hands the receipt and card back to the man, and offers a small smile and a wave as he tucks the two into the back pocket of his jeans and wraps an arm around the vase. As he is turning to leave, the name on the card flashes in front of Shiro’s eyes again.

**_K. KOGANE_ **

“Have a nice day!” Shiro calls after him, feeling braver than he had just a moment before, “Thanks for coming back in Mr. Kogane!”

Bouquet Guy spins on his heel, looking back towards Shiro, and gives him a wry smile, “It’s Keith,” he offers, pushing the door open with his hip as he salutes Shiro with his free hand, “you can call me Keith.” 

“Keith,” Shiro affirms, raising a hand in salute as well, “come back soon, Keith!” 

The door closes behind Bouquet Guy-- _ Keith _ he recalls, moving his hands down to brace himself against the countertop.

“Keith,” he murmurs. The name feels like molten honey in his mouth and he has to take a deep breath to center himself. “Keith,” he repeats, when he hears a soft chuckle behind him, Allura is standing in the doorway to the back room, leaning against the frame and holding a boutonniere in her hand while she shakes her head.

“Keith?” she asks with a gentle smile, “oh, Shiro.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Howdy! Hello! This is really self-indulgent and it's definitely un-beta'd so bear with me if you see any egregious errors--I haven't written anything non-academic in about a million years. come visit me on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) if you feel so inclined.


	2. Chapter 2

Keith comes back the following week and buys a bouquet filled with orange and yellow carnations and lilies. He buries his face into the flowers, and the sound of the soft breath of air that he exhales into the stems haunts Shiro long after Keith has left the shop.

The week after that, he returns to buy another bouquet, simple this time with soft white roses that match the scarf he has wrapped around his neck to keep the autumn chill away.

It happens again the next week.

Keith begins coming in every Friday, rain or shine, to buy a bouquet, smile at Shiro, and walk right back out of his life.

On one particularly chilly day in mid-October, Keith foregoes his usual bouquet, and chooses a small barrel cactus from the succulent shelf in the corner.

“No flowers?” Shiro asks, trying to ignore the little pang he feels upon realizing that the terra cotta pot is painted with little white hearts.

“There’s a flower!” Keith protests, pointing at a tiny bud on the crown of the cactus, and looks at Shiro with an empty-eyed stare.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I--” Shiro’s hurried apology is interrupted by a wide, toothy grin splitting across Keith’s face as he bursts into peals of laughter.

“I’m just giving you shit, Shiro, lighten up,” the other man cackles as he holds cash out for Shiro, “keep the change.”

“I can’t really do that.”

“You can and you will,” Keith refutes, setting the money on the counter, grabbing the pot and turning away from where Shiro stands. “Have a good day!”

“Yeah, you too,” Shiro nods, waving at the man’s retreating form, and looking down at the small pile of bills on his counter. “Hey, Keith, wait!”

“Hmm?” Keith hesitates, hand stilled on the front door, and his eyes lock with Shiro’s.

“I’ll uh,” the words spill from his mouth in hurried mess, “I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah,” a look that Shiro can’t fully identify crosses Keith’s face before he’s smiling over his shoulder, “I’ll see you next week, Shiro.”

*****

Keith does indeed come back the following Friday, as he does every week, and gravitates immediately towards a bouquet of vibrant, bright red flowers that Shiro has proudly displayed on the front counter.

“What are these?” he inquires, voice soft as he reaches a gentle hand out to caress the flower, “they’re beautiful.”

“Chrysanthemums,” Shiro replies simply, watching as Keith pushes his hair out of his eyes to lean in closer and examine the petals, “They’re one of my favorites.”

“I love them,” he murmurs, “they’re so delicate.”

Shiro hums in agreement, unable to wrench his gaze away from where the other man has shifted the vase towards himself. Keith pays for the flowers and presses one half of his face into the blooms, before looking up at Shiro through long lashes. He spends a moment worrying his his lip, and asks, “Do you like coffee?”

“I--what?”

“Do you like coffee?” Keith repeats, cocking his head to the side, and pressing his cheek further into the pillow of chrysanthemums.

Shiro can feel his brain short circuiting, and his pulse speeding up as his eyes meet Keith’s; he nods numbly in response, hoping the heat spreading across his face isn't as visible as it feels.

“Okay, cool! I’ll see you ‘round then, Shiro!” Keith replies, waving cheerily, and shoulders his way out the door.

Shiro watches through the dirty glass of the shop’s front windows as Keith passes by, smiling down at his phone as he disappears into the dark evening streets, before burying his face in his hands and letting out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. His heart is hammering in his chest, beating mercilessly against his ribcage. For a moment, Shiro had thought--no, Shiro had _dreamt_ that Keith was going to maybe, just maybe, ask him out for coffee sometime.

“Hey, Shiro?” someone murmurs, placing a gentle hand on the back of his own. Shiro wrenches his head up from where it has been cradled in his hands, and locks eyes with the figure looming over him.

“Oh,” he sighs, pressing his face back into his palms, “Hi Allura.”

“Are you feeling okay?” She prods, concern lacing the edges of her words. Shiro gives a noncommittal shrug in return, “I saw someone walking by with a bouquet, were those yours? They were beautiful.”

The forlorn groan that escapes Shiro, as he peers up at her from in between parted fingers is answer enough for Allura.

“Oh…” she smiles, and Shiro recognizes the tightness in her voice as she tries to repress a laugh, “that was the guy, wasn’t it? What was his name, again? Kevin? Karl?”

“It’s Keith.”

“Ah...Keith,” She laughs outright this time, and Shiro immediately digs his palms into his closed eyes until he can see white stars flickering in and out of focus, groaning even louder when she says, “That’s a nice name.”

“Don’t make fun of me, Allura.”

“I would never.”

*****

The end of the weekend brings a cold front in, blanketing the world outside of the shop with a dense layer of fog, and by the following day, the walkways have transformed into a sheet of sheer ice as the temperatures plummet. Shiro keeps himself occupied on Tuesday morning, after much of the city has been put on accident alert, by creating a tally sheet of people who have slipped and fallen on the icy sidewalks as they shuffle along.

By mid-afternoon, the city is silent, and Shiro’s tallies have been waylaid by a desperate, last minute order for an early morning wedding the following day. Persuaded in part by the snow that has begun to fall, and in part by the sobs of the distraught bride whose florist had cancelled last minute, Shiro flips the little cardstock sign on his front door to _‘Sorry, We’re Closed,’_ and settles into a routine of constructing and deconstructing centerpieces and bouquets in the back room.

Shiro is up to his elbows in discarded arrangements, and has finally settled on a design for the groom’s boutonniere when he hears the chime of bells coming from the lobby of his shop. He looks over his shoulder at where the clock on the wall reads 8:18, and lets out a sigh.

“Hey, I’m sorry, we’re…” Shiro hesitates when he rounds the corner and is met by the sight of a windswept Keith, bundled in a massive red coat, with little wisps of dark hair poking out from under the beanie he’s pulled down over his ears, “closed.”

“Oh,” the small smile that had been painted across Keith’s face falters at Shiro’s greeting, “I just...I’m sorry. It’s cold outside and I saw that you were still here, and…” He trails off, and glances down towards where he’s got a pair of coffee cups clutched in his hands, “I just thought I’d stop in and say hey.”

Shiro follows Keith’s gaze and--oh god, he’s wearing _mittens._ Shiro’s brain feels as though it’s short circuited, and his lack of immediate response causes Keith to step forward, holding one of the little cardboard cups out.

“I can leave,” he amends. When Shiro looks down silently at the mittened hand and the drink clutched in it, Keith’s words take a defensive edge, “I just...I’d thought you might like something. You’d said you liked coffee.”

“I do,” Shiro murmurs, accepting the drink, “thank you,” When his eyes meet Keith’s there’s a dusting of pink across the other man’s cheekbones, which Shiro resolutely reminds himself is probably from the cold outside.

“Well then, cheers,” Keith holds up his cup, bumping it gently against Shiro’s. His mouth has quirked up at the edges again, and he murmurs, “I don’t know what you like, so it’s just a caramel latte.”

“I’ve never had one, but I trust you.”

“Good to know,” Keith replies, he scuffs the toe of his boots across the floor, and looks over his shoulder, towards the door. “I uh...I suppose I should go. You’re probably busy.”

Shiro appraises him for a long moment and takes a sip of the drink, “This is good,” he says, and is silent again, briefly, “You can stay if you’d like.”

“Yeah? I don’t wanna distract you.”

“Yeah,” Shiro smiles, gesturing over his shoulder towards the back room, “I’ll teach you how to wrap a boutonniere.”

Keith lets out a quiet, soft little laugh as he trails behind that fills Shiro’s entire body with syrupy warmth in a way that the coffee in his hands could never do.

*****

Keith returns on Friday evening with another caramel latte for Shiro, and does so again the following Tuesday. As it turns out, Keith works at a little coffee shop just about a block from Champion’s Floral, and begins stopping by after his shift every Tuesday and Friday, bringing Shiro paper cups emblazoned with handwritten messages and drawings.

In exchange, Shiro begins creating bouquets filled with the kinds of flowers that Keith has gravitated towards in the past--bright, large blooms that make his eyes light up when he sees them. He strategically scatters them throughout the shop’s coolers, moving them to a different location each week in the hopes that Keith won’t realize that Shiro spends hours agonizing over which color of chrysanthemum to include in the arrangement. The first week that he does this, Keith beelines towards the bouquet Shiro had created, and turns to him, delight wild in his eyes as he points out the garden rose and chrysanthemum that Shiro carefully selected.

He is amazed that Keith managed to find the right bouquet.

Keith always, somehow, _miraculously_ finds the right bouquet, time and time again.

Shiro is tormented by this man for weeks--by his stupidly deep blue eyes. By his love for chrysanthemums. By the endless supply of caramel lattes that he brings, each with little handwritten notes of encouragement scrawled on the side of the cup: ’you can do it,’ ‘good job,’ or Shiro’s personal favorite, ‘rhododendron or die!’ in which a small, flowered bush bearing a large knife is scowling up at him from the cardboard sleeve.

More often than not, Keith sticks around after he brings Shiro coffee, and plants himself on the edge of one of Shiro’s counters. Sometimes he reads a book, sometimes he watches as Shiro putters around, fixing centerpieces and baskets, but mostly he talks. He’ll swing his legs back and forth through the empty space beneath where his feet dangle and wave his hands animatedly while he shares story after story. Shiro constantly has to bury the smile that’s permanently glued to his face when Keith is around into piles of petals and greenery.

Before long, Shiro learns the following things about Keith:

 

1) Keith is smart--not just smart, but _brilliant_. He’s a senior at the nearby university, he’s studying aerospace engineering, and--”I want to be an astronaut”

“An astronaut?” Shiro asks, trying to hide the shock coloring his voice, “Isn’t that a really difficult field to get in to?”

Keith’s head falls, brows furrowed, and the scowl that crosses his face could probably kill Shiro if it were focused on him instead of where Keith’s hands are clasped in his lap. “I’ve been informed,” he replies simply, voice listless. There’s a sharp pain in Shiro’s chest when he looks at Keith’s hunched shoulders, so he crosses the room, and extends a sprig of hyacinth to the other man. A peace offering.

“I think you’ll be a great astronaut.”

 

2) Keith likes bright, colorful flowers the best, because--”they remind me of the botanic gardens near where I grew up.”

“Where are you from?” Shiro looks over his shoulder, towards where Keith is sitting, expression turned into something guarded and cold.

“A lot of places.”

“Oh, okay.” Shiro shrugs and turns back towards his work, unwilling to push Keith further. The silence that fills the space between them feels thick, and after a while, Shiro hears a sigh behind him.

“I uh…” Keith’s voice trails off for a moment, “I didn’t really have a home when I was a kid. I grew up in foster care, I bounced around a lot.” Shiro can recognize the gravity of what Keith is telling him. Recognizes the need for Keith to feel safe, to not be stared at, so he keeps his back to the other man, and just tilts his head a bit in acknowledgement. “I didn’t really find a permanent place til the Holts adopted me. They lived about a block from the gardens, and had a family membership, so I could go whenever.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen,” Keith replies, “I was thirteen when they took me in.”

“You said you grew up near the botanic gardens,” Shiro pauses for a moment, and turns back around to face Keith, who just returns his gaze, “the Holts sound like your family. They sound like home.”

“Yeah,” Keith nods slowly, “Yeah, they were my home.”

 

3) Keith is ambitious, and these ambitions belong not only to him, but extend to everyone he crosses paths with--“I wanna walk on the moon, Shiro. I want everyone to be able to walk on the moon.”

“Everyone?” Shiro laughs, the half-assembled arrangement on the counter behind him long forgotten. He’s leaning back, arms crossed over his chest while Keith throws his hands up into the air from where he is perched on a rickety old stool.

“Yeah! Everyone!” he confirms, “A moon colony is theoretically possible, if we’re able to contain a small biosphere, and sustain a small population, we could use that research as a blueprint for other colonies in space. Mankind could live on Mars, or even on the farthest reaches of our solar system with that kind of technology--we could go to _Kerberos!_ ”

“Kerberos?”

“She’s one of Pluto’s moons, she’s not important,” Keith waves a hand dismissively at the thought, “but just consider the possibilities Shiro!”

“I’m considering it,” Shiro acknowledges. His face hurts from the grin that’s been plastered to it for the last twenty minutes, “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for colonizing celestial bodies.”

“I mean, I’ll be going one day, and it’d be nice to have some company,” Keith’s voice quiets an octave or so, gentler now, and he quirks one eyebrow at Shiro, “they got zinnias to bloom in _space_ Shiro--can you imagine that? You could open a shop on the moon one day.”

“The galaxy’s first space florist?”

“The galaxy’s first space florist.” Keith confirms with a nod, and a conspiratorial look flashes across Shiro’s face in response.

“I don’t even like zinnias.”

*****

Over the course of the next several months, Shiro finds himself falling further and further into a Keith shaped hole, and he can’t seem to climb out. The man haunts the edges of his vision, and the edges of his brain. Shiro can’t seem to shake the thought of him. There’s no hope to do so, when he routinely brings Shiro coffee that’s almost as sweet in Shiro’s mouth as the soft smiles and late night discussion the two share.

One evening, as he’s locking the door behind himself with a cold caramel latte that had been forgotten in favor of conversation clutched in one hand, realization hits Shiro like a ton of bricks. For all that he knows about Keith, there’s still just one thing that he doesn’t know, which feels just as important, if not more so, than the things that he _does_ :

 

1) Who the _fuck_ Keith is buying all of these flowers for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect anyone to actually read this, but thank you so much to those of you who have. It means the world to me. Feel free to pop in and say hey on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove). I'd love to hear from y'all.


	3. Chapter 3

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Keith, I know you’re probably straight, so I’m just wondering why you’ve never mentioned the girlfriend you’re buying these flowers for?” 

“Just ask him,” Allura sighs, haphazardly waving a thorn stripper in Shiro’s direction from where she stands, trimming a small mountain of long stem roses, “I don’t see why you’re making this so difficult.” 

“I am not making it difficult,” He replies, mouth pressed into a thin line, “it’s just a weird thing to ask someone.” 

“It’s not weird. You two are friends now and it’s normal to want to know about your friends’ lives,” she quips, turning to face Shiro with arms crossed over her chest, “Besides, worst case scenario is that he is lovingly married in a very straight relationship--” Shiro opens his mouth, and Allura raises a finger in warning, leveling Shiro with an unimpressed glower,

“No, you are going to hear me out on this,” she snaps, “Maybe he’s buying these flowers for someone, and that’ll be a bridge you’ll have to cross if it comes to that. The best case scenario, however, is that Keith reveals he’s been buying them all for his grandmother’s grave or something, and that yes, he is definitely free to grab drinks on saturday.” 

“He’s an orphan, so--”

“Shiro, listen to me,” Allura’s hands are perched defiantly on her hips now, and she speaks to Shiro slowly, calmly, “I have listened to you moon over this kid for months, and quite frankly? I think he likes you, maybe as much as you like him. Neither you, or I, will know peace, until you figure out what’s going on between you two, though. So, as your friend, I need you to do me a favor, okay?” 

The nod that Shiro offers her in response is half-hearted, at best, but he has the decency to look chagrined. 

“Pull your head out of your ass, screw it on straight, and ask Keith out on a date.” 

*****

Shiro does not ask Keith out on a date. 

Instead, he spends his time trying to gently prod Keith for answers, with very little success.

“I’m surprised you buy flowers every week,” Shiro observes the following Friday evening, eyeing the bouquet of creamy white gerbera daisy and purple chrysanthemum that Keith is cradling in his arms, “I...uh...I feel like you must be running out of places to put them.”

He receives a stilted laugh in return, and Keith just shrugs. The follow-up attempts over the next several weeks are less successful than the first, as Keith finds new ways to brush Shiro off. 

Despite the fact that every one of Shiro’s efforts fall flat, Keith still brings him coffee every time he visits. He still stays late when Shiro has work to do. He still grins mischievously when he discusses the plans for his future moon colony. 

“We’ll need to make sure that there is adequate housing for the essential staff in the early stages, but we’ll also have to plan for the actual colonization efforts,” Keith explains, wringing his hands, head tilted to the ceiling. He is seated cross legged on the counter beside Shiro, who has been adjusting the same sprig of eucalyptus in a basket arrangement for the last fifteen minutes. “So there will have to be enough living quarters for both essential,  _ and _ nonessential personnel, because the colonists will have to learn to be self-sufficient as the colony grows.” 

Shiro cocks his head, and hums thoughtfully, “What do you mean?” 

“So you have the essential personnel, who are the ones that begin the colony. They’ll mostly consist of engineers and scientists who are able to operate the most basic functions of the artificial biosphere. That’s the oxygen and water production and plant-life sort of stuff,” he replies, “after the biosphere begins to take hold and become self-sufficient, you’ll begin to pull in nonessential personnel---people to sustain the colony. In the beginning these people will mostly have to be farmers, and carpenters, and people with practical, vocational skills, but as they have children, and more humans immigrate from earth, the lines will begin to blur. Before long? You’ll have a fully-functional society.” 

“Complete with a space florist?”

“Complete with a space florist,” Keith nods, pulling his eyes from where they’ve been fixed to the ceiling, and looking at Shiro instead, “does that mean you’ll come to the moon with me?”

Shiro pauses briefly, and instead of saying something charming or witty, the synapses in his brain fail to fire, “well, wouldn’t you rather take your girlfriend?” 

Keith freezes, and an unreadable expression crosses his face, “my girlfriend.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro replies, and the other man’s eyebrows knit together, “the one you’re buying all the flowers for?” 

“Well realistically,” Keith wrenches his gaze from Shiro’s and looks up towards the ceiling once again. His voice is flat when he continues,  “the terraforming process would take thousands, if not  _ tens _ of thousands of years to reach a point that could sustain animal or human life. Even longer if we do so on a planet-wide level, rather than under a contained dome in a finite area, so,” he holds his breath for a moment, and lets it out in quick, shaky exhale, “none of us will get the chance to go in this lifetime.” 

*****

Keith’s non-responses push Shiro into a state of frenzied work, as he throws himself into bouquet after bouquet in an attempt to wipe the other man from his mind. Valentine’s Day is quickly approaching, and Shiro spends hours organizing the orders he’s received, as well as fielding calls from panicked clients who are hoping to secure arrangements for their partners. 

Shiro is blissfully preoccupied wrapping dozens of roses in tissue paper and cellophane the night before Valentine’s day when the bells he has tied to the front door jingle lightly. He looks up from his work, through the little window that peers from the back room into the main entrance, and sees Keith standing just inside the shop’s threshold. Shiro raises a hand in greeting, and his entire body fills with warmth when keith offers him a smile, holding up a coffee cup in return. 

“Hey Keith,” Shiro says as he rounds the corner from the back room, “I wasn’t expecting to see you today!”

“Yeah! I was just passing by, so I thought I’d pop in.” 

Another man, who Shiro hadn’t noticed before, steps forward with a grin on his face. After taking a long, appraising look at Shiro, he wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders, pulling him close, and chuckles as he murmurs something in Keith’s ear that is just low enough that Shiro can’t quite make out what he’s saying. When a scarlet flush blooms across Keith’s face, Shiro’s heart drops straight through the floor.

Even after Keith shoulders his way out of the embrace and crosses the room to offer him the drink, Shiro can barely hold down the bile rising in his throat. “Thanks,” he nods, “it’s nice to see you.” 

He feels sick. 

Having spent months agonizing over the prospect of Keith buying flowers for a beautiful, nameless girl, Shiro is absolutely unprepared for the reality of the flowers being for a beautiful, nameless boy instead. Shiro looks over Keith’s shoulder at where the other man stands, all tan skin and chocolate brown hair, with his hands shoved into the pockets of a worn Adidas jacket. 

“I, uh,” Keith shakes the cup in his hand just enough to catch Shiro’s attention. He carefully smooths his expression into something neutral before looking back to where Keith stands before him, and accepting the proffered drink, “I’m sorry if I caught you off guard. I know you’re closed right now, but I figured you’d be up late working on orders for tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” Keith replies, head cocked slightly, “Valentine’s day is tomorrow?”

“Ah,” Shiro’s gaze slides back to where the other man is leaning up against one the coolers with his arms crossed over his chest. Their eyes meet and he smirks at Shiro knowingly. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Keith asks gently, drawing Shiro’s attention, “you seem a bit out of it.” 

“I’m fine,” he replies absently, “just tired.”

“Well, get some rest, okay?” Keith smiles again and Shiro feels a sharp pain shoot through his chest. There’s a sound of someone clearing their throat, and Keith looks back for a moment to where the other man is still smirking, before offering Shiro an apologetic look and a soft “I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I’ve got plans with Lance tonight.”

Shiro nods, mind numb, and after several more stilted attempts at conversation, Keith and  _ Lance _ \--god, the name feels bitter on Shiro’s tongue, ready themselves to leave. “I’ll see you soon,” Keith says, pulling the scarf he wears to ward off the February chill tightly around his neck.

“Tomorrow, right?” Shiro prompts, trying to hide the hope he knows must be obvious in the question, “it’s Friday.” 

“It is a Friday,” Keith confirms, with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

When the pair turn away, Lance elbows Keith and says something that causes him to flush the same violent shade of red as earlier when he glances over his shoulder to wave a quick goodbye to Shiro.

The door closes behind them with a hollow  _ thud _ .

*****

Valentine’s day is busy. It’s the kind of busy that settles a deep exhaustion in to Shiro’s bones after a few short hours. The door opens incessantly, letting in short bursts of chilly air, and client after client. Custom orders and pre-made bouquets alike filter out of the door one by one over the course of the day, until the remaining selection is sparse, coolers populated mostly by the roses Shiro had ordered en masse in preparation for the holiday. 

Shiro tries to ignore the pain that twinges in his heart every time he looks up to see a face that isn’t Keith’s entering when the bells on the door signal someone’s arrival.

Keith doesn’t show up at his usual time, nor does he do so in the several hours that follow. 

Keith appears only as Shiro is flipping the little cardstock sign that hangs in the front window so that the side that reads  _ “Sorry, We’re Closed” _ is visible. He’s wearing the same too-big red coat that he’s worn all winter, and his cheeks are painted in an almost identical shade from the blustery cold outside. Shiro feels the same sharp pain as he had earlier. This time, though, it sits alongside something warm and golden in the pit of his stomach when he holds open the door for Keith, who smiles and holds a coffee cup out in greeting.

“Sorry I’m late,” Keith says as Shiro takes the drink in his hands, “busy day.” 

“It happens,” Shiro shrugs,  “I’m glad you came by though, I was worried.” 

“You were worried?”

Heat rises in Shiro’s face, and he glances away for a moment, before turning his attention back to the man in front of him, “Yeah, I didn’t think you were going to come.”

Keith, in response, merely offers Shiro a look that he cannot discern the meaning of, and hums, before setting off to examine the floral coolers. 

He doesn’t have time to steel himself against the expression that is draped across Keith’s face when he turns to face Shiro a brief minute later. Keith’s brows are furrowed, his eyes are cast to the floor, and Shiro can tell that he is worrying the inside of his cheek from the way he holds his mouth. 

He is unmistakably disappointed. 

Shiro realizes, in a flash, that in his fretting over Lance and preparation for Valentine’s Day, he neglected to create an arrangement for Keith.

“Did all the chrysanthemums sell early today?” He asks Shiro after a moment, voice quiet even in the insulated silence of the shop.

Shiro is silent for a brief second, “I’m sorry,” he sighs.

“For what?” Keith looks up from the floor, and locks eyes with Shiro who pauses for a beat.

“I didn’t make anything with chrysanthemums today,” Shiro replies, “I didn’t think you actually cared about them.” 

Another beat. Keith blinks at him, slowly, and takes a step forward. 

“Of course I care,” he says, “why wouldn’t I care?” 

“It’s not that I think you don’t care! I know you care, I just thought--” Shiro hesitates for a moment. He can feel hot panic rising in his throat in his rush to explain. Keith is moving another step closer to him, just within arm’s reach, when he spits out, “I just thought Lance wouldn’t like it.” 

Keith stops his slow approach, halting suddenly as though he’s been rooted to the floor, and lets out a soft “oh,” in response. Shiro has barely opened his mouth to speak again before Keith lets out a little trill of laughter and quips, “it doesn’t matter what Lance thinks.” 

“Of course it does,” Shiro insists, the words laced with long-suffering resignation, “Isn’t he your boyf--” 

Shiro is unable to finish the thought, cut short by the sudden pressure of Keith’s lips against the corner of his mouth. He startles back, but is held in place by Keith, whose fingers are fisted in the fabric of his coat.

“It doesn’t matter what Lance thinks,” Keith repeats, tilting his chin up and defiantly narrowing his eyes at Shiro, “He is  _ not  _ my boyfriend.” 

“I see,” Shiro breathes out in acknowledgement, and Keith relaxes his grip on Shiro’s jacket, spreading the fingers of his right hand wide over Shiro’s heart instead. 

Shiro’s mind feels as though it is running a mile a minute, and he wonders, briefly, if Keith can feel his heart hammering through the thick denim under his palm. Keith leans in again, and ghosts his lips across the line of Shiro’s jaw. Slowly, surely, Shiro can feel the tension start to sap from his body, and he moves his hands to rest on Keith’s hips, pulling him in close when Keith’s lips move to meet his own in another quick kiss. Shiro smiles into it, and Keith huffs a quick laugh out, before pulling away and burying his face in the crook of Shiro’s neck.

“I can’t believe how dumb I am,” Keith mumbles into the skin just above Shiro’s collar. Shiro shifts his grip higher, to Keith’s upper arms and pulls back from the embrace, to frown disapprovingly at Keith’s declaration. Before he can get a word in edgewise, Keith presses on. “I’m so dumb. I came that first night to get flowers for Lance to give to his date, because it was raining, and Lance didn’t want to ruin his hair. Then I kept coming back,” Keith takes an unsteady breath in, “The first time because I felt guilty, and then every time after that because of you.” 

“Me?” Shiro cocks his head inquisitively. 

“Of course because of you,” Keith sighs, “oh my god, Shiro. You’re  _ you _ . I kept trying to think of ways to ask you out, but I couldn’t figure it out, so I just brought you coffee and kept hoping you’d ask me.” Shiro is quiet, and Keith continues, “and I’ve just been buying flowers for months now, trying to drop hints, but you keep asking about some girlfriend I don’t have.“

“I thought you were buying the flowers for someone,” Shiro offers as an explanation. Even to his own ears the defense sounds weak when it falls from his tongue, and Shiro’s face feels hot with embarrassment, “I didn’t want to read too much into you coming to the shop or bringing me coffee.” 

“I drew hearts all over your cup about ten different times, Shiro.”

“Friends can do that,” The heat rising in Shiro’s cheeks has moved into the tips of his ears, “Besides, the flowers could have been for someone!”

“Lance has been making fun of me for months because there are empty vases, and half-dead chrysanthemums all over our apartment.” Keith deadpans, and Shiro moves to scrub a hand across his face. Keith intercepts the movement and catches Shiro’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers together instead and holding their clasped hands alongside the one still sprawled across Shiro’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro murmurs after a moment. 

“For what,” Keith replies, in between placing a little line of kisses along the underside of Shiro’s jaw. When Shiro simply shrugs, Keith moves his mouth to meet Shiro’s again, before muttering, “then don’t be sorry.” 

Shiro pulls back from Keith for a moment, and raises his free hand to cradle the side of Keith’s face. He looks at Keith for a long moment, eyes appraising, “so, you’re not seeing anyone?” 

“No,” Keith replies, leaning into the touch, “I’m, ah…” Shiro sweeps his thumb along the ridge of Keith’s cheekbone, and hums thoughtfully when the other man’s eyes flutter closed at the touch, “I am very single.” 

“Good.” 

“Good?” a smile pulls at the corners of Keith’s mouth, and Shiro thumbs at the dimple that appears on his cheek. 

“Yeah,” Shiro confirms, leaning in to press another kiss to Keith’s mouth, trying to hold back the giddy laugh that threatens to bubble out when Keith looks up at him, expectant, as he pulls back, “Would you be interested in changing that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are! big love to everyone who has left kudos, or a comment, or even just read this. y'all are so sweet. as always, pop in and say hey on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime.
> 
> ps i know nothing about the terraforming process or what it would take to actually colonize celestial bodies. if that is your passion, i apologize in advance for everything i made up.


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